When Midnights Strikes
by public static void
Summary: "It's a small thing," she says, wondering if his kisses taste like summer and strawberries too. "I was wondering how you came to the idea of the screaming yo-yo."


**Gods!** I spent three hours editing this to cut down the word count and I'm not quite satisfied because now it seems incomplete.

 **Anyways!**

 **For The Golden Snitch's** **Gred and Forge's April Fools Birthday Extravaganza!**

 **I used** Tom/Hermione, screaming yo-yo, Acromantula, twin, Strawberry kisses by Nikki Webster, and Mugwump.

* * *

It happens every night when the clock strikes twelve.

It's the shifting light before her eyes, twisting reality into something different. It's the smell of ozone as she tears space apart and shatters time. It's the coldness of an endless void that screams her name in cosmic music. It's the taste of blood when she bites her tongue too hard so she doesn't scream. It's the laughter of the young man she finds the first time she travels.

"You took your time," he complains ironically as she materialises. "What shall we do today, I wonder?"

She stares while Tom Riddle writes in a book she knows too well and asks her questions about the void he tries so much to avoid. The topic, as fascinating as it is, frightens him at the same time. Fear of death, she knows, is what motivates him.

"Maybe we could do something new," he suggests with a satisfied smirk. "We could—"

"We shan't do anything but wait," Hermione interrupts, grabbing the book he always brings for her.

It's infuriating when he lifts an eyebrow, lowers his chin and widens his eyes because he looks at her knowing she'll be convinced. And she _is_ because not even knowing what Tom Riddle will become is enough to say _no_.

"Alright! What do you have in mind?"

Soon they are running through Hogwarts and Hermione thinks how unlike Voldemort this young man is. The riddle will never be solved, she thinks with irony.

"This is the place. I hope you know _Arania Exumai_ ," he tells her and suddenly he's stoic again, with only the slightest display of superiority that Hermione has made sure to erase from their interactions.

His words are enough for her to know what's inside and her curiosity is piqued. So, Hermione lifts the lid of the box and soon sees the Acromantula making its way to her, intent on biting. It's not her wand that shoots out the spell but Riddle's. He hides it well, but she knows he is —mildly— worried.

"Be careful," he warns, avoiding her eyes. "It's coming again."

It is, but this time Hermione is ready and immobilises it. She takes her time and looks at Aragog's pincers and eyes, and she's sure the Acromantula won't remember her. After all, Voldemort doesn't care for little mudblood Granger, so that means Riddle will, too, forget her.

She stands and looks back at him. The cruel spark in his eye is coming through, maybe thinking of what he could do with the poison or maybe how he could kill her. Contrary to any beliefs, Hermione hasn't forgotten who he is, but the thought of him forgetting about _her_ is bitter.

"Don't you appreciate how this creature could kill in an instant with only one bite?" he speaks, his voice exuding wonder and danger. "I desire to harvest its heart."

"Afraid of it, Riddle?" she dares and fails to learn why she is suddenly taunting him.

"No," he answers simply and levitates the Acromantula into the box. "It will serve another purpose."

"I know," she says before she can't stop herself and immediately purses her lips.

Tom looks at her with newfound interest.

"You know what I will do." Tom walks to her and pulls her chin up to see him. Only now is Hermione wondering why is he so tall if she's two years older than him.

"You look older than you are," she whispers almost out of breath because he's too close and she _doesn't_ dislike the proximity.

Hermione likes the feel of his eyes seeking hers and drifting to her lips from time to time. It's exhilarating to know —because she _sees it clearly_ — that Tom Riddle is attracted to her. Not for the first time Hermione thinks that this isn't but a twin reality to hers, because Voldemort is incapable of human emotions and yet here he is, holding her chin with smooth hands that could belong to a pianist because they play music against her skin.

"Don't distract me," he says forcefully and darkly. This is more like it, she thinks. He is already mad with power that doesn't belong to him still. "Tell me, _Hermione_. What will I do? Will I become the Supreme Mugwump? Will I be Minister of Magic? No? Well, then that means I will _take it all by force_ , doesn't it?"

She wants to tell him that and the rest of his deeds. _You will kill your father, you will kill my friend's parents, you will start a war._ She stays silent, shivering. He frightens her.

Then he smiles and though she hasn't said anything, he knows the truth because she can't tear her eyes away from his and the soft, lingering touch of his mind inside hers is cruel. Hermione can almost hear his heartbeat, adrenalized with the thought of his future.

He _knows_ and when she leans forward she still _lets him_ brush her lips with his for a brief moment, a butterfly fluttering through the wind. Her heart is restless. she has to do something that doesn't involve kissing a murderer who tastes like strawberries.

Then she feels, inside her robes, the screaming yo-yo she confiscated that evening and is glad for not taking off her school uniform before midnight. She slowly takes it out, keeping her eyes in his and watching how tender his eyes can look when he's not thinking of power.

Hermione lets the yo-yo fall, screaming as it unravels and distracting Riddle from her.

"What is that?" he asks, picking it up and analysing it with eyes so hungry for more knowledge that even a simple toy can give. "A muggle toy that screams when used. How useless, but still mildly fascinating."

The spell is broken and she feels free.

Then the clock strikes again and she is gone, tearing apart time and shredding space to reach her home.

In a brief moment, she'll be in her dorm, hearing Lavender's soft breathing and Parvati mumbling in her sleep. Then she notices the yo-yo isn't in her hands and that means Riddle has it, and the questions arising in her mind are too many to list them all in the briefness of her travel.

* * *

The next midnight it's bizarre.

Riddle is faithfully waiting for her with a smirk on his lips.

Hermione lets out a smile that startles her because he _is_ Voldemort and right now her heart is beating faster because she is with him after twenty–three hours of missing the strawberry kisses that are sweeter than everything else she's ever tasted.

I'm falling at the thought of your lips, she thinks and thankfully he's distracted with the screaming yo-yo in his hands because, otherwise, his Legilimency will extract from her mind those sinful thoughts and the regret they carry.

"Tonight we'll prank the castle," he announces, to Hermione's surprise.

"Tom Riddle, pranking the castle?" she smiles, frowning. Maybe this is a twin reality where the people has the same names but they are completely different. Tom Riddle doesn't prank people. Tom Riddle doesn't drive her crazy. Tom Riddle is smiling.

"At the end, life is the biggest prank. It leads us to our death but we enjoy the ride. Why can't I do the same? Besides, it won't be the whole castle. Only one witch that crossed me."

His twisted logic makes her stomach churn.

"It all falls to your egocentrism," she deadpans, angered but still curious. "What do you propose?"

He pretends to think about it for an instant, pacing around the room with a pleasant expression.

"Do you happen to know Walburga Black?" he asks and she can't avoid the laughter that passes through her lips.

Oh, how she loves this twin reality in which Tom Riddle, evil sociopath, wants nothing more than to prank the mad woman who will become Sirius' mother.

"She brags about being the darkest of them all. I want _to prove_ how she's still a scared little girl _playing_ with Dark Arts. I'll scare her with only this device."

Hermione, against her logical side that keeps screaming to stop, agrees and they walk to the dungeons.

Silence falls over them, ominous but comfortable and, as they walk, their hands brush once, twice and thrice until heat pools in her chest and the offended hand tingles with energy born from a shared companionship.

The brief contact unsettles him. Hermione looks at him, smirking, and contemplates the frown and narrowed eyes that grace his features. It looks unnatural on him, who usually has nothing but plastic smiles and wicked smirks. And before she can't stop herself, she entwines her fingers in his.

She loses herself in the sensation of his cold hands, praying to Merlin for common sense. How can she feel this way when he's a killer? Hermione feels like a puppet on a string, dancing to his tune while he blindly plays a melody he has never heard before.

"We're here," he says and the charm dissolves. It's a curse that has been lifted but will return, and Hermione is already wanting it back.

Tom Riddle touches the stone in front of them and speaks to Hermione without looking at her, lost in his thoughts.

"Can you feel it?" he says and lifts her hand —the one still intertwined in his— to make her touch the stone. It's cold and lifeless, but he seems to feel something else. When she doesn't answer, he goes on. "I thought so. Magic would be spoiling me if she sent someone who is like me."

Her thoughts go back to Harry, who sometimes looks at Hogwarts as if he shares a secret with her, and maybe that is why Voldemort chose him. Not because of a prophecy —she quickly sends away that piece of knowledge, not wanting him to find out— but because they are the same. Equals in all but morality.

"What does it feel?"

He inhales deeply and his face becomes a divine sight: right then, Riddle has a human emotion painting his features. The awe in his eyes is inspiring and Hermione returns her eyes to the stone, hoping to feel something more than the roughness of the material.

"Like a heartbeat, but pure." Then he exhales. "We should hurry before midnight goes away."

The Slytherin Common Room is peaceful and looks comfortable. It's cold, from the ambient to the colours, but beautiful in its own right. She has no time for exploring —and her adventurous side demands her to look around while her curiosity begs her to learn everything she can about the newly discovered place— because Tom's hand is pulling her to a staircase that goes deeper into the dungeons.

She is startled when he speaks Parseltongue, his lips barely moving as the strange words fill her ears like a song unknown.

"That's so I can sneak into the girl's room. Otherwise, I'll be knocked out." He explains.

"The Gryffindor Common Room has something similar," she shares as they go down. "But you only slide down to the Common Room when the stairs disappear."

He chuckles, and she's marvelled again at hearing the human sound coming from the lips of a killer.

"This is the room," he says, interrupting her thoughts. Then he turns to look at her. "Would you let me disillusion you?"

She narrows her eyes. "I can do it myself," she says, reminding him that they might be in good terms right now but she still doesn't trust him.

His eyes flash in anger and she flinches. The cruel reminder of his nature is welcomed and she tears her hand away from his. The anger deepens then.

Hermione disillusions herself and is awed at Tom Riddle again when he can follow her movements, sensing her magic.

"Follow me," he says.

Walburga's room is individual, maybe because she's Head Girl (according to Riddle) or maybe that's how it's done in Slytherin. Still, when they enter Hermione is surprised by the witch's beauty.

"Hide in the corner," he commands and the compelling, melodious voice has her walking to the darkest corner before she understands that he's using a mild charm in her. She's angry and her magic bursts, shattering it. "Quick."

Once she's out of sight, he whispers a spell and becomes a shadow. Hermione drowns a gasp; Tom became smoke so dark she can't locate him until the yo-yo screams.

Walburga Black wakes up, startled and looking everywhere. She grabs her wand and lights it up, circling around, still in her bed, to shed light in the room.

"Who is it?" she asks, not fearfully as Hermione thought but angrily.

Then the yo-yo screams again and Walburga's eyes widen. "Who is it!"

 _The yo-yo screams again._

Walburga screams too and Hermione frowns, not making any sense out of her reaction.

 _The yo-yo screams again._

Someone enters the room and the shadow that is Tom passes through them without they noticing.

"Are you okay, Walburga?" an unknown witch asks, looking around with her wand, trying to locate the origin of Walburga's fear.

 _The yo-yo screams again._

Walburga does too and then Hermione goes back to her time.

* * *

"That wasn't a prank," she says the next night. "You _knew_ Walburga is prone to madness and tried to push her further into her own delusions."

She has analysed Riddle's so–called prank during the day, and she questions herself at why she didn't see _it_ sooner.

 _Because you are a puppet_ , her mind supplies.

"It took you too long to notice," he chuckles darkly, not ashamed by her accusation. "She deserves insanity for the humiliation I received from her. The yo-yo was only to see _if I could_ push her. Now, I know I can. The silliness from yesterday was a test, don't you see? Walburga Black deserves to fall."

Hermione shakes her head.

"I —I can't."

She doesn't know what she means by that and looks down at her feet, trying to make sense of her raging emotions.

A scream shatters the silence and she looks at him, calmly playing with a yo-yo Fred and George created.

They spend the night without speaking. Hermione sits primly in a chair, counting the seconds as they become nothing and when there are only sixty left, she looks up.

"Give me the yo-yo," she orders, extending her hand and looking the same she does when confiscating forbidden items from first years. This is quite similar, but he's not an innocent first year. "Now, Riddle."

He looks at her with sparkling eyes. "Kiss me and I'll give it to you."

She's shocked before she notices his smirk. He doesn't think she'll do it and that's why he's asking for that. She won't be able to take it with magic; he's much more powerful than her, but she won't fall for his tricks.

"Or you can let me keep it," he says, making it scream again.

That's not an option. She doesn't know when she will stop visiting this reality, but sooner or later it will happen and she can't leave something from the future here.

It's something logical when she stands, her Gryffindor pride mingling with the challenge in his smirking lips.

It's not gentle when she kisses him. This is the only way she can show how much she hates him and she bites his lower lip strong enough to make him bleed but he only groans in response and it's such an entrancing noise that the feeling of warmth in her chest spreads to her abdomen and she separates from him just in time to see him pocket the yo-yo as she disappears.

She feels tricked again, and she can't wait to see him tonight to take the toy by force. But she doesn't go back that night.

There are usual sensations in her when midnight falls: the lights, the ozone, the cold, the blood and the musical, cruel laughter. But _she doesn't_ go back.

She waits until morning to send a letter to George.

* * *

"Hello, Hermione," George says when they meet in Hogsmeade. She smiles at him, honestly happy to see him and wondering if the rapid beating of her heart is because of his lopsided smile or because of the anticipation of the words she expects to hear. He bows in front of her, taking her hand and lightly kissing it. "What can _this one_ do for you?"

"It's a small thing," she says, wondering if his kisses taste like summer and strawberries too. "I was wondering how you came to the idea of the screaming yo-yo."

He is visibly surprised, lifting his eyebrows comically. "Is our Perfect Prefect trying to follow our footsteps?"

She smiles and looks down. "I was just wondering. You know, knowing things is _my_ thing."

"I'll tell you but you have to promise not to say anything to anyone else." He says, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "We saw one in Filch's office one day. But I think you know that, don't you, Miss Perfect Prefect?"

Hermione does and she laughs again.

It was the same reality after all, and the thought of Tom Riddle, of Voldemort, being recorded as having a screaming yo-yo from another time makes her feel as mad as poor Walburga Black.


End file.
